


Close Calls

by emptypockets



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort, No one is having a good day, Whump, and the plot is only there to justify the PAIN, graham and ryan to the rescue, graham going granddad mode on the doctor because we love to see it, i miss the fam, when i say i got carried away with this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:54:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23484163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptypockets/pseuds/emptypockets
Summary: “Fine. Maybe when you’re knocking on death’s door you’ll feel like talking.”“Oh, don’t tell me you’re going old fashion.” The Doctor rolls her eyes, body swaying theatrically with the gesture, but Yaz doesn’t miss the edge of fear in her tone there. Subtle, restrained, but bubbling to the surface. “What, you gonna whack the information out of me? Make me a coordinate piñata?”“No, I’m just not giving either of you the antitoxin.”The Doctor goes awfully quiet, eyes narrowing skeptically. “The what?”
Comments: 20
Kudos: 140





	Close Calls

**Author's Note:**

> I did not mean for this to be as angsty as it is but that’s my brand honestly

Yaz wakes with hesitance. The alluring whispers of unconsciousness might not have such a bad idea. 

Her head feels floaty initially, but it doesn’t take long for a dull ache to settle at her temple. Her shoulders are  _ really _ sore, arms strung above her head and cuffed to the wall at her back. Yaz shuffles her feet for purchase to take some of the strain off her shoulders. 

“How’s it hangin’, Yaz?” The Doctor’s voice prompts her to lift her bowling ball of a head, and she hazily locates her friend restrained in the same fashion a couple feet to her left. 

Yaz knits her brows together in a sluggish attempt to make out her question, tilts her head back slightly to eye her binds, then looks back to the Doctor with a tired cringe. “Did you just ask me  _ how’s it hanging _ ?” 

“Not in a bad joke sort of mood then, that’s alright.” The Doctor’s nose wrinkles apologetically and she bends forward as much as her restraints allow. “Really though, are you okay?” 

“Think so. Head hurts.” Her surroundings come into focus, a rusty cell with an even rustier door that could be classified as a simple dungeon save for the cuffs around her wrists that feel futuristic, unfamiliar, and very good at their job. 

“That’ll be a Phythsonian sedative. Stay awake if you can, it’ll wear off quicker.” 

“And why exactly have I been drugged?” It would make sense of her difficulty in following the Doctor’s sentences, the lethargy in her shuffling feet as she struggles to plant them properly. “And why haven’t you?” 

“Might’ve rubbed the head honcho the wrong way. And I was, but I’ve got a fast metabolism.” The Doctor brags, a twinkle in her eye suggesting Yaz should be impressed. “Think it’s just about run its course for me.” 

“And how long have we been tied up?” 

“Hour or so. Haven’t seen any of the skinny blokes since then.” 

Yaz is about to ask who she means by  _ skinny blokes _ as well as how the hell they ended up here in the first place when the cell door is loudly kicked inward. 

“Hello again.” The Doctor’s tone is just as light and easy as it was, but there’s visible tension on her face and in the twitching tendons in her neck. Her nerves are almost tangible, and instantly contagious. Yaz has no issue letting her do the talking. “Visiting hours already?” 

“Doctor.” One aforementioned ‘skinny bloke’, presumably a Phythsonian, nods his head in greeting, a steady composure and a friendly front that Yaz instantly sees through. “Ready to tell us where you’ve hidden the death particle?” 

“No, but I’ll tell you what I told you before, which is that I didn’t hide it, I destroyed it.” 

Death particle. Yaz can’t currently remember how she knows what that is. 

The Phythsonian sneers, and the Doctor doesn’t budge. “You can’t just destroy a death particle without destroying everything.” 

“I can, and I did. Made a little doo-dad for the very purpose because that type of weapon shouldn’t exist, and you know that, or you wouldn’t have hidden it ten feet underground in an unimportant corner of an abandoned spot in town. Terrible place, by the way. It was the first one I checked. The doo-dad helped, though, I’ll admit.” 

“The doo-dad did all the work.” Yaz slips in, some events coming back to her in short bursts. That’s how they ended up on this planet, and while she can’t recall the rest she’s able to fill in enough of the blanks. 

He clenches his fists then, and Yaz can see anger winding higher and higher behind bulging, pale green eyes. “We’ve been at war with a neighboring planet for  _ decades.  _ The death particle was our only opportunity for peace. Do you realize what you’ve done?” 

“Mate, that’s not the way to go about ending wars.” The Doctor retaliates with a tight edge, lips flattened, and the expression might be decipherable if Yaz could think in a straight line. “You want to know how to stop a war? I’m the person to ask. And I’ll help, I’ll be  _ happy  _ to help, but you have to let me and Yaz go. I come up with my best plans when my hands are free.” 

The skinny bloke’s scowl is unwavering. “You’re one person. You can’t do a thing.” 

“You don’t know that.” The Doctor pleads, her voice taking on that strained pitch it gets just before shit goes, as they say, sideways. “Look, the death particle’s gone, and soon the handful remaining in the universe will be gone as well, so there’s no point in holding onto a plan that you don’t have the ability to execute.” 

Yaz holds her breath, vaguely registering that this is one of those ‘turning point’ moments. Sometimes the Doctor says the right thing, sometimes there’s nothing right to be said. 

And it would appear that this time, there’s nothing right to be said. “There’s more than one death particle?” 

The Doctor’s expression stills, eyes a bit wide. “Er... did I say that?” 

“And you know where they are.” This time it’s a statement, not a question, and Yaz might as well get comfortable - they’re gonna be here for a while. Too bad she’s chained to a wall with a splintering headache. “Tell me.” 

The Doctor completely deflates with a sinking realization written all over drooping lips, hooded eyes, and she casts Yaz a sidelong, apologetic glance before standing up as straight as she can. “No.” 

For a skinny bloke, he packs quite a punch. He throws a gloved fist into the Doctor’s face with enough impact for her knees to buckle, and for Yaz to gasp. 

“Doctor!” The sight sends a spark of adrenaline through Yaz’s veins and she leans forward, twisting against her binds. “Leave her alone!” 

“It’s alright, Yaz.” The Doctor assures, clearly unphased, but when she regains her footing and lifts her head Yaz can see a bruise already forming next to a bloodshot eye. 

“No, it’s not alright,  _ Yaz.”  _ Their captor darts forward to fist his hand threateningly in the collar of Yaz’s shirt, and she winces when his foul breath fills her nostrils. “Because your friend here has just doomed my entire world, and if she doesn’t tell me how to get my hands on another death particle then  _ neither  _ of you,” He looks sharply to the Doctor then, a challenge in his pale eyes. “are leaving here alive.” 

The Doctor’s composure quickly shifts into something especially captivating, especially serious. A warning frown on her lips, head ducked to meet his eye properly. “Don’t touch her. I can help you.” 

“Then help me!” He shouts, whirling on the Doctor without loosening his grip on Yaz and ramming his knuckles into her cheek again. “Tell me where the death particle is!” 

The Doctor doesn’t stagger as much this time, but there’s blood trailing from her lip and she’s a bit out of breath when she stabilizes. “No.” 

Yaz can hear the Phythsonian’s jagged teeth gritting in rage, and his hold on her collar curls tighter before he lets go entirely. He takes a step back, hands raised above his head in faux surrender, and he's way too quick to get a hold of his act. His head dips, lifts again to flash a grin that causes trepidation to settle a little more in Yaz’s gut. “Fine. Maybe when you’re knocking on death’s door you’ll feel like talking.” 

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re going old fashion.” The Doctor rolls her eyes, body swaying theatrically with the gesture, but Yaz doesn’t miss the edge of fear in her tone there. Subtle, restrained, but bubbling to the surface. “What, you gonna whack the information out of me? Make me a coordinate piñata?”

“No, I’m just not giving either of you the antitoxin.” 

The Doctor goes awfully quiet for a moment, eyes narrowing skeptically. “The what?” 

“You’ve both been injected with a poison from Metebelis-4. Found it on a raid thanks to an idiot colleague, and it’s perfect for a slow and entertaining execution.” His lips twitch with satisfaction. “Or interrogation, depending on the species. Shuts down your cardiovascular system either way. Let’s see how long you two last.” 

Yaz is worried the Doctor’s eyes might pop out of her head, or steam might come out of her ears or something, because she’s never seen her _ quite  _ this angry. It’s a fearful anger, a helpless one, she knows, but Yaz doesn’t feel any of this. Her  _ the Doctor will get us out of this  _ subconscious takes its place. Also, she’s tired. Very, very tired. That helps keep the fear at bay. 

“Are you  _ aware, _ ” The Doctor all but shouts, rage simmering just beneath the surface, barely contained. “That literally everything on Metebilis-4 is  _ already _ toxic to humans? Yaz will die even  _ faster! _ ” 

“Can’t say I did know that.” The skinny bloke says carelessly. “But all the same. If you tell me, I’ll let both of you go after I’ve done some fact checking, just in case you’re already considering lying.” He holds the Doctor’s eye carefully, searching for confirmation, and when he finds them disappointingly unrevealing he turns to the door. “I’ll be back soon. Hopefully you’ll have a change of heart by then.” 

The Doctor protests and shouts and pulls helplessly against her cuffs as the captor leaves his captives behind. Meanwhile, Yaz is just starting to properly catch up. 

Ah. 

“Doctor?” Her voice feels weaker than it did the last time she used it, but she needs just a  _ tad  _ of reassurance to kick the  _ everything’s gonna be fine  _ back to the surface of her thoughts, and the  _ this is actually really bad  _ to the bottom. 

Unfortunately for her, the Doctor’s frantic eyes and persistent straining against her cuffs screams  _ this is really bad.  _

“It’s gonna be alright, Yaz.” Her tone is full of promise, an attempted projection of hope, but they don’t stick the landing. 

This is bad. 

Yaz has a few more questions, a few more requests for even a sliver of reassurance, but her head is growing heavier and her limbs have developed an almost imperceptible tremble. She doesn’t realize her eyes are closing until she’s being  _ barked at  _ to open them back up. 

“You know how before I said ‘stay awake if you can’? Well that’s not just an option anymore. Stay awake, Yaz.” 

She’s beginning to sag, legs protesting her weight and failing to do their job. 

“ _ Yaz. _ ” 

“Trying.” She mumbles into her chest, lifting her head with increasing difficulty and cursing her legs when they fold beneath her again. She winces when the deep rooted ache returns to her shoulders. “‘s it not affecting you?” 

The Doctor doesn’t answer, and it’s funny how that, not her own potential doom, is what frightens Yaz the most. 

She tries to stay awake, she really tries, but her eyelids are fluttering shut before she knows it, and the Doctor’s pleas are lost to the sound of nothing. 

* * *

This is bad. 

The Doctor gives one more fruitless but determined yank against her cuffs when Yaz stops responding, and the thirtieth time is not the charm. The sonic would do the trick if it weren’t in her coat pocket, and as much as she hops and kicks she can’t get it out, let alone anywhere near her hands. She even tries asking the cuffs nicely to please,  _ please just loosen up for two seconds. I won’t tell a soul, promise. You’re great at your job, absolutely brilliant, and I’ll be recommending your services to the higher ups of this galaxy if you could just be a  _ little bit  _ nice.  _ Nope, they’re not budging. There’s a camera in the top corner of the room. The Doctor bitterly wonders if they’re being monitored. 

“Yaz?” She’s been unconscious for four minutes now, and while the Doctor knows she’s at an increased risk she has no idea how long the toxin will take to run its course. Hours at best. She won’t consider the worst. 

Yaz, blissfully unaware, hangs limp and loose from her binds, head lolling against her chest, face relaxed. Helplessness makes the Doctor feel a bit sick, and she has to settle for listening to Yaz’s heartbeat just to assure herself she’s still alive. It’s steady enough for now, but too slow for her to feel entirely reassured. 

As for herself, the Doctor is deep in denial. The stuttering of her left heart and the accompanying pain in her chest is irrelevant, and she pays it no mind. 

Twenty minutes come and go and the Doctor has counted every crack in the walls, every rut in the floor, and each of Yaz’s breaths. They’re a bit laboured now, an audible struggle, and the perspiration dotting her brow under the light of a single hanging bulb makes her skin look like it’s glowing. 

The Doctor has a hard time doing anything besides monitoring her, and it’s not great for passing the time. The seconds really creep by when you’re forced to stand still as someone sinks nearer and nearer to death. With every instant that she’s still, Yaz gets an instant closer to never waking up. 

Yaz’s breath hitches once on the way in and her brow furrows unhappily, but she doesn’t wake. The Doctor swallows around a lump in her throat, forces her gaze down to her feet and gives one final, hopelessly weak tug against her restraints. 

Fine. She’ll give him the damn coordinates. Worlds will burn, people will die, and it’ll all be her fault. But Yaz will live. 

Does that make her selfish? Almost definitely. But maybe, just  _ maybe,  _ she can rectify it later on. Maybe she can come back and stop them. Turning a problem into a bigger problem and then sorting it out later is one of her specialisms. 

Yaz just needs to live. 

Now, the Doctor is anxiously awaiting the skinny bloke’s return. It’s going on an hour, and Yaz is getting worse. She’s shaking enough that it’s obvious from a few feet away, and weak noises of distress break free from her chest every few minutes. She’s already running out of time. 

Not to mention, the Doctor’s left heart is starting to go  _ proper wonky _ . Faltering and skipping over beats as if that’s allowed, giving the other no option but to pick up the slack, and it hurts. It  _ really _ hurts, actually, now that she’s sparing it more than half a thought. The imbalance leaves her a little breathless, jelly legged, and a bit disoriented.  _ She’s  _ running out of time, and Yaz won’t make it out of here without her. 

When the cuffs around her wrists suddenly unclasp, it’s so unexpected that the Doctor doesn’t notice right away. 

She doesn’t move her arms at first because  _ surely  _ she’s imagining things. Do handcuffs have compassion after all? 

It’s not until Yaz’s body hits the floor that the Doctor lowers her hands for the briefest of inspections. Huh. They’re free.  _ Why  _ are they free? 

She drops to her knees with zero grace at Yaz’s side and tenderly rolls her into her back. She’s completely unresponsive, skin pale and beaded with sweat, and when the Doctor goes to tap her cheek she feels heat seep into her fingers. 

“Yaz?” It comes out a bit wheezy and the Doctor coughs once, presses a hand against her sternum and wills her hearts to get their act together. 

Yaz doesn’t react, but the sound of her mobile ringing draws the Doctor’s attention to her pocket. She mindfully retrieves it and frowns down at the caller ID. Graham and Ryan were having a pizza and telly sort of evening on board the TARDIS last she’d checked, consequent of a very unfortunate previous trip involving about a day and a bit’s worth of foot travel. They were all exhausted after that, even the Doctor was, but now that she had the last part for her  _ DDP  _ (death  to the death particle), she couldn’t relax until she’d checked one off the box. Yaz, of course, had insisted on joining her. 

The Doctor, of course, should have insisted she stayed put. 

Somewhat shakily, she raises the phone to her ear and eases back to sit on the floor. “Graham?” 

“Doc, what’s going on? I think we’re in the same building as you a few levels up. Found the security room whatsit, so we can see you two. Looks like Ryan pressed the right button, finally _. _ ” 

Her eyes drift to the camera on the ceiling, and her lips quirk upward in relief. “How’d you get there?” She’s only mildly curious, pinching the mobile between her ear and her shoulder as she shuffles through her inside pocket for the sonic. 

“Bit of a long one, that -”  _ “- what’s the matter with Yaz?”  _ Ryan’s distant voice interjects, worry kicking his tone up an octave. 

“A double dose of not good _.  _ Ryan, listen to me carefully. Are you listening?” 

His voice is closer and clearer in the receiver when he responds. “Listenin’.” 

“I need you to go back to the TARDIS.” She points the sonic at the cell door and unlocks it. “There’s a medbay seven doors down on your right. It’s not exactly organized, sorry in advance, but there’s a cabinet with an exclamation mark on it. You’re looking for a universal antitoxin, green thing shaped like a short pencil with some black symbols you won’t recognize. Understand?” 

“ _ Antitoxin? _ ” Both Ryan and Graham exclaim in sync. 

“ _ Ryan.  _ Have you got all that? Need to have it ready when I get back with Yaz. She’s not doing well.” 

There’s a brief beat as he processes, and the Doctor can hear the familiar determination return to his voice instantly. “Seventh door on the right, exclamation mark cabinet, green pencil thing. Got it.” 

“Go on, then.” The Doctor takes a quick peek on her hands and knees out the door to confirm the coast is clear, then returns to Yaz’s side and slips an arm under her back to sit her up. “Graham, I’m gonna need you to guide us out of here. Sounds fairly unpopulated but I don’t need to run into any unfriendly faces. Are you safe where you are right now?” She wraps an arm around Yaz’s waist, settling her deadweight against the Doctor’s shoulder. 

There’s a pause on the other end, and Graham’s voice is a bit quieter when he speaks. “Doc, I won’t lie to ya, we found these stun gun things, didn’t really feel we should take time to come up with a better plan when we overheard that the two of you, quote, ‘won’t last more than a couple hours if they don’t fess up’. I know you’ve got your thing about guns but we -”

“- Graham. It’s alright.” She interjects tiredly, setting the phone to speaker mode and dropping it in her pocket. The image of either of them holding any sort of gun doesn’t exactly sit pleasantly with her, but sometimes you simply can’t follow all the rules. She knows that. “Did what you had to. 

There’s a small sigh of relief. “Right, well then in that case, yeah, perfectly safe. I can see a couple of those things wandering about but the corridors are mostly clear. And it looks like you’re just one level down from the surface, actually. I think. Pretty sure. I’m not the I.T. guy.” 

The Doctor bites her swollen lip to suppress a grunt when she hooks her arms around Yaz’s shoulders and knees and goes to lift her. She staggers when she stands, and doesn’t quite manage to stifle the quiet moan when her left heart flutters dangerously, and her breaths heave painfully. 

“Hold on, you’ve not been poisoned as well have you?” 

She channels her energy into getting a firm hold on Yaz instead of responding. 

“Doc.” 

“It’s fine, Graham.” Pain stabs her square in the chest and she nearly trips, but makes it out the cell door in one piece without dropping her cargo. “Works slower for me. Might not be doing much talking, mind.” She keeps close enough to the wall that her shoulder brushes it lightly, just in case her balance doesn’t keep up it’s efforts. So far so good though. “Just let me know if I’m about to have any company. Any chance there’s a lift back to the main level?” 

Another pause as Graham tries to find out, and his voice is laced with subtle sympathy when he responds. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it sure don’t look like it. Staircase coming up on your left, though.” 

“Staircase.” She breathes, shifting Yaz’s weight a little higher so that her head rests against the Doctor’s chest instead of dangling over her arm. “Love a good staircase. Good for the hearts. Usually.” She’s out of breath already. Stop talking, Doctor. 

Graham doesn’t speak again until the Doctor locates the staircase, two fairly lengthy flights that are admittedly intimidating in her current state. She stares upward, a bit overwhelmed. “You need a hand?” 

”No.” Yes, she could really use a hand, but one Phythsonian in her path and she’ll be held up far too long to make it back to the TARDIS on time. Graham knows this, thankfully, and doesn’t argue. 

Deciding she could use a quick breather, she kneels to the floor and props Yaz up against the wall, shaking out her arms and counting the stairs with apprehension ever building in her gut. 

“What did I miss?” Yaz’s croaky whisper is unexpected, and snatches the Doctor’s attention immediately. 

She really wasn’t expecting her to wake up again until she was on the mend, so to see her eyes cracked open and drifting with some level of lucidity back and forth is an impossible relief. If she’s awake, maybe she can walk. If she can walk,  _ maybe  _ she can get up those stairs without being carried. 

“Not too much.” The Doctor lifts a hand to cup her cheek and trail her thumb tenderly across paling skin. “How you feelin’?” 

Yaz groans quietly and closes her eyes again, discomfort visible in the lines at her brow and the tension in her muscles. “Not great. Plan?” 

The Doctor slides her hand down so that it rests on Yaz’s shoulder, and she’s already surging with unspoken apologies. “Stairs.” She says simply, answer enough. 

Yaz’s eyes open narrowly again, glancing up the stairs with an uncertain frown. 

“I’m really, really sorry to ask you this Yaz, but do you think you can walk if I help you?” Her hand slides down Yaz’s arm to curl encouragingly around her fingers. “Don’t think I’ll make it carrying you all the way. Lefty’s about ready to go out on me.” 

“Lefty?” Yaz clarifies hazily, brow pinched. 

“Left heart’s gone a bit wobbly. Even talking’s got me a bit out of breath.” She admits, simply with the intention of kicking Yaz’s survival subconscious into the highest gear. They won’t make it up those stairs if the Doctor has to carry her. She needs to understand that. 

Yaz’s unfocused gaze tries to hold hers, reluctant understanding building in her eyes. For once, the Doctor isn’t nagged and interrogated about her own condition which is helpful, but drastically out of character for Yaz. She really isn’t feeling well. 

“Help me up?” Yaz swallows audibly and lifts her heavy head off the wall, one hand raised. 

“‘Course.” The Doctor smiles sadly at her, swelling with a sick mixture of pride and sorrow. She grasps Yaz’s wandering hand and slips an arm around her waist, closes her eyes to channel all her energy into getting her upright, and stands. 

Yaz is barely holding her own weight once she’s up, leaning heavily into the wall and holding loosely to the Doctor’s coat. The Doctor keeps a hand on her back, firm and steady as they take the steps one at a time, agonizingly slow. She won’t let her fall. 

“You two alright?” Graham quips from her breast pocket when there’s silence on the Doctor’s end for a few minutes. 

“Fine.” She says tightly, sweat dotting her brow and chest heaving as she supports Yaz every step of the way. It’s still a mammoth task, but worlds easier than carrying her. 

Yaz is breathing quickly, head bowed and eyes on the stairs beneath her feet as she struggles to lift them. She’s only still upright thanks to the support of the wall, and all the Doctor can do is try and take some of the strain off her legs. 

“You’re doing great, Yaz.” She wheezes, pausing for the briefest of moments to let her hearts catch up before propelling Yaz upward again. 

It feels like hours before they’re even halfway up. There’s a platform in between the first staircase and the next and as soon as they reach it, Yaz distantly registers the opportunity for a rest and her legs buckle beneath her. 

The Doctor grunts as she falls to the floor with her, steering their descent so they can lean against the wall. “Right, that’s alright, quick breather. I’m gonna take a look at you, open your eyes for me?” 

Yaz does as she’s told, but even the small action seems to take a lot of effort. Her eyes are glassy and wandering, chest heaving, and the Doctor reaches with a shaking hand to press her fingers to the pulse point in her wrist. 

“How much further?” Yaz slurs, head lulling as she fights the urge to sleep. The Doctor frowns when she feels a racing pulse under her fingers, then lays a palm over her forehead. She’s feverish, her immune system battling the toxin with everything it has. The Doctor’s painfully aware that hard as it tries, it won’t be strong enough on it’s own. 

“About halfway there.” The Doctor says, not sure if it’s a reassurance or a letdown. From the barely perceptible sinking of Yaz’s shoulders, probably the latter. “Graham and Ryan are waiting for us up top. The TARDIS isn’t far from there, promise.” 

Yaz nods her head ever so slightly, and the Doctor’s already aching heart sinks heavily when she sees a pained tear roll down her cheek. When her breathing evens out a bit, the Doctor wraps an arm around her shoulders. “You ready?” 

Yaz simply nods again, eyes closed, and the Doctor doesn’t have the heart to make her open them. Digging into her shallow reserves of dwindling strength, she heaves the both of them up. 

Yaz is a lot less helpful this go around, and she can hardly blame her. Her legs buckle every couple steps and it’s up to the Doctor to hold her up, whisper encouragements into her ear, and press on. 

When they’re halfway up the second flight, lefty gives up. 

The Doctor can’t suppress a gasp and her legs go awfully weak, her hand flies to her chest in protest as her right heart begins to thud so violently it’s like it’s trying to one up it’s less capable counterpart. Mocking it’s weakness. 

She tries to take the next step, but crashes forward into it instead, taking Yaz with her. She cushions their fall just in time with one arm tucked under herself, and the other holding Yaz close to her side so she doesn’t go tumbling down. 

Moaning and gripping the step under her face to force herself up, the Doctor hears Yaz’s breathing slow down considerably. She’s unconscious again. 

“Doc?” Graham’s concerned voice comes through again. “Doc.” 

“Bit busy here, Graham.” She rolls onto her back and forces herself to take slow, steady breaths. “Be with you shortly.” 

Yaz is dead to the world, and the Doctor knows she won’t be able to help out with the rest of the trek. She also knows that there’s absolutely no way she can lift her again, and for a moment the helplessness is too overwhelming for her to do anything but lie still. 

No giving up. They’ve made it this far. 

“What’s the main level looking like?” Deep breath in, deep breath out, and she pushes herself into a sitting position. 

“A few wanderers.” The edge of worry in his voice is far less restrained now, increasingly urgent. “They’re in and out from the corridor, but the exit isn’t far from where you’ll be when you get to the top of the stairs. Ryan just texted saying he’s waiting outside. Coast is clear out there - oh, and he found the antitoxin.” 

The Doctor nods shallowly and hooks her arms under Yaz’s. She scoots backwards and hauls her upwards upwards, just one step, and sits them onto it, already bracing for the next. She considers having him send Ryan in to take Yaz the rest of the way, but he’s safer where he is, and available with a stun gun if she  _ really  _ needs a hand, and she won’t be able to do anything to help him if he gets captured. She’s managing. Barely, scooting up one step at a time and taking thirty second breathers in between, but managing. Yaz is counting on her. 

It probably takes about twenty minutes to reach the door at the top of the stairs, and her chest is screaming, right heart pounding with the physical strain. She allows herself a moment,  _ just  _ a moment, to lean against the door with Yaz cradled to her side, and breathe.  _ Breathe, Doctor.  _

“Made it.” She says lowly, to both Graham and Yaz even though she’s entirely unaware. “How’s the corridor looking now?” 

“Stay put just a mo, there’s a couple of those things, but -” A beat, then another, then an urgent hiss. “Right, go now. Quick as you can.” 

The Doctor raises a heavy hand to turn the knob, then leans into the door to push it open. She and Yaz collapse halfway through it. 

“Hurry Doc, they could come through any minute.”

_ I know,  _ she almost bites, but saves the energy for the process of getting herself to her feet, which is hard enough. Hooking her arms under Yaz’s again and dragging her, nearly impossible. 

She can see sunlight filtering under a closed doorway and keeps her eyes fixed there, and nowhere else. So close. They’re so close. 

An alarm blares, flashing lights bathe the corridor in red, and the Doctor nearly drops Yaz in despair when three Phythsonians come barreling towards her. 

“Fellas, listen.” She lowers Yaz down and raises her hands non-threateningly, listing to one side but catching herself before she can fall. She finds their original captor standing at the front of the tactical alignment, laser gun in his grip. “I really,  _ really  _ don’t have time for this.” 

“You’re not going anywhere.” The skinny bloke challenges. “Not without telling us where -”

A blast of purple hits him square in the chest, and the gun clatters from his hand. He falls to the floor, and the two Phythsonian’s behind him follow suit. 

The Doctor furrows her brow and follows the source of the blast to find Ryan standing behind them, and he drops the stun gun like it’s burned him as soon as he catches the Doctor’s eye. 

“It’s just a stun gun, swear it on anything.” He raises his hands innocently, anticipating a lecture she doesn’t have the energy to deliver. Besides, he’s just saved their bacon. “Is Yaz okay?” 

“She will be. Can you carry her?” A bit of the terror in Ryan’s eyes dulls out and he nods confidently, already bending down to lift her into his arms. “Graham,” The Doctor plucks the mobile from her pocket. “Meet us outside. We need to get out of here.” 

“On it.” He ends the call, and the Doctor slips the phone back into Yaz’s pocket. 

Ryan leads the way, and the Doctor stumbles after him, increasingly grateful for his sudden appearance because she’s barely able to move herself now, let alone Yaz as well. She watches her face carefully, pallor growing increasingly sickly, and picks up her pace as much as she’s capable. 

The sun is a welcomed sight, and the air is so fresh compared to the humid establishment that she takes two seconds to draw a deep breath in. The TARDIS is a beacon of hope a dozen yards away and she homes in on the sight, using it to urge herself onward. 

She looks back in alarm when she hears the exit door open and close, but it’s only Graham, sprinting awkwardly to catch up. The TARDIS opens her doors on her own accord, beckoning the four to safety. 

“Just set her down here.” The Doctor staggers up to the controls, leaning into them heavily as she pilots the TARDIS back into orbit. Ryan keeps a tight hold on Yaz until the deck ceases it’s rocking, then eases her carefully to the ground. The Doctor drops to her knees weakly, fingers pressed to Yaz’s neck and counting her slowing heartbeat. “You’ve got the antitoxin?” 

“Yeah, there was only one though.” Ryan informs, sitting on her opposite side and passing the syringe to the Doctor without looking away from Yaz’s still form. She looks close enough to death for it to be nauseating. 

“I’ve only got the one. Nicked it off a hospital planet, didn’t want to shorten their supply too much but I knew it’d come in handy eventually.” Her own breaths are coming out uncontrolled, head spinning as her single working heart fails to supply sufficient oxygen to her brain, but she’ll get to herself later. Without hesitation, she holds the syringe to Yaz’s neck and presses a button on the end. There’s a click, a hiss, and a final click of completion. She tosses it over her shoulder and rests a hand on Yaz’s cheek, stroking it with her thumb and willing her eyes to open. Unsurprisingly, they don’t immediately. 

“She’s gonna be alright isn’t she?” Graham kneels carefully next to Yaz’s head, watching her face carefully, worry written all over his own. 

The Doctor nods, sinking onto her heels and working her arms under Yaz’s body. “She’ll be fine, but I need to monitor her til she’s stable. Medbay.” She gestures to the corridor with a tilt of her head, instinctively making to lift Yaz on her own. 

“Doc,” Graham leans over to grab her arm, halting her movements. “Let Ryan. You need a break.” 

She pauses, considering his words before nodding timidly and withdrawing her arms. Ryan takes her place, lifting Yaz with such ease that it’s a tad annoying, and when she doesn’t immediately get up to follow, Graham takes the liberty to wrap a supporting arm around her waist. 

“Come on, love.” He stands, pulling the Doctor with him, and she’s more grateful for the help than she is annoyed by the need for it. She leans into him, taking the stairs to the corridor slowly. They’re a lot easier this time around now that she’s only supporting half her weight instead of hers  _ and  _ someone else’s. “Nice shiner, by the way.” 

They reach the medbay, and it’s just as disorganized as she remembers leaving it. There’s four beds, always readied for each of them just in case. Ryan eases Yaz onto the closest one. 

The Doctor breaks away from Graham to stumble over and plop onto the edge of the bed. “Ryan, hand me that sheet of monitor patches.” She points to a spot across the room without looking, eyes trained on Yaz’s closed ones as she presses the back of her hand to her cheek. “Fever’s going down, good sign.” 

“So what happened?” Graham asks as Ryan hands her the patches, and the Doctor peels one off the sheet to stick it to the side of Yaz’s neck. A holographic monitor splays onto the wall next to the bed, and the Doctor looks up to analyze Yaz’s vitals. 

“They wanted to know where to find the other death particles after I destroyed theirs. The poison they injected us with is from Metebelis-4, and that entire planet is toxic to humans, for future reference.” She reaches across the bed to grab an oxygen mask hanging from the wall and secures it over Yaz’s mouth and nose. “So like I said, double dose of not good for Yaz.” The Doctor breathes out shakily, resisting the urge to double over when pain spikes in her chest again. “She’s alright now though. Stabilizing.” She confirms, watching the monitor again while entering information into a keypad attached to the foot of the bed. 

“And what about you?” She pays little mind to Graham grabbing her own hand to check her pulse, typing away with her other. 

“In a mo,” She dismisses, distracted, and frowns when she tries to pull back her hand and Graham doesn’t let up. “Gonna need my hand back, Graham.” 

“What - where’s your other heart gone?” He lets her go but hovers anxiously, trying to catch her eye. 

“Still where it’s supposed to be, just currently out of order.” She grits her teeth in agony, swallowing a moan. 

“Isn’t that, like, really bad?” Ryan’s perched on a swivel stool a few feet away, and while he’s sparing her the claustrophobia by keeping a short distance his nerves are loud and obvious. 

“Would be if I didn’t have two.” She finishes updating the system and drops her hands into her lap, shoulders sagging with exhaustion she can’t keep at bay. “I can fight it off, I think that this time it’s  _ actually  _ just about run its course. Just need to…  _ agh. _ ” She can’t keep it together anymore. She presses her palm to the right side of her chest and bends over, breaths coming out short and shallow. She’d topple right off the bed if Graham didn’t shoot out a hand to steady her. 

“What d’you need, Doc?” He dips his head to catch her eye as she breathes through a surge of adrenaline. 

“Oxygen.” She points over her shoulder to a second mask hanging on the wall, finding it increasingly difficult to breathe. “Need to keep my right heart going til the other one kicks back in but it’s not gettin’ enough oxygen to my brain on it’s own.” 

Ryan’s already reaching over her urgently to retrieve it while Graham maintains a steadying hand on her shoulder, guiding her through deep breaths in and out. Ryan presses the mask to her face and she raises a hand to replace his, holding it there, and breathing soon feels as close to normal as it can with only one heart. She can take a deep one without choking, at least. 

One more glance at Yaz’s monitor to confirm she’s stabilized, and all the tension in her body eases up. 

“Gonna have a kip, I’ll be better when I wake up.” She peels another patch off the sheet and sticks it to her neck, and immediately her own vital signs flash onto the wall next to Yaz’s. She only eyes it briefly before lowering herself to Yaz’s side instead of moving to a bed of her own. She feels a need to keep close, even if she won’t be much use unconscious. 

“You sure about that?” Ryan worries, eyes flicking back and forth between her and the monitor while Graham helps her lie down comfortably. He’s being very grandfatherly, even though she’s about a zillion times his age, and the Doctor can’t find it in herself to be anything but thankful. She really must need a nap. 

“Just about.” She closes her eyes, hand flat over her chest as she breathes slowly. “Keep an eye on us if you don’t mind. If Yaz gets worse, wake me up if you can. If you can’t, just keep her temperature down and make sure she’s breathing. She’s on the mend, though. You shouldn’t have to worry about that.” 

“And if  _ you _ get worse?” Graham challenges, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

The Doctor sighs, forcing her eyes open and glancing up at her own monitor where a single set of beats floats across the hologram. “If my heart hasn’t started back up in a few hours or if the other one goes wonky, press the red button under the bed.” 

Graham locates it, forehead wrinkled in confusion when he lifts his head again. “What’s that gonna do?” 

“Shock me. Rather not go that route unless I have to.” 

“Won’t that shock Yaz too since you’re on the same bed?” Ryan questions. 

“Alien tech. Don’t feel like explaining right now.” She waves a hand dismissively and permits her heavy eyelids to flutter closed, feels a hand pat her arm reassuringly as she slips closer and closer to unconscious relief. “Also, good work today, boys. Would’ve been a tricky one without you there.” 

“Any time, Doc. Get some rest, we’ve got the two of you covered.” 

She hums a quiet thanks, and falls asleep to the sound of them settling down close by. 

* * *

The Doctor is jolted awake by an  _ unreal  _ spike of pain over her hearts, and she bolts upright with heaving breaths and the tail end of a cry on her lips. 

To her surprise, Yaz is the one she finds hovering over her, awake and alert, eyes wide and face contorted in lively panic. “Take it slow. Deep breaths, you’re alright now.” 

Still working to steady her breathing, she narrows her eyes in silent questioning. 

“Your other heart bloody  _ stopped,  _ Doc.” Graham’s face appears over Yaz’s shoulder, looking equally distraught. Ryan’s keeping a respectful distance, and he too looks like he’s seen a ghost. 

The Doctor scrunches her face in disbelief, checking her pulse with fingers on her wrist to find both hearts now beating strongly. “Seriously?” 

“Very seriously.” Yaz grabs her hand, still apparently settling down from the shock of the experience. “You feel okay?” 

The Doctor considers, slowly swinging her legs off the bed and twisting side to side experimentally. “Right as rain, actually. Maybe we should’ve done that a while ago.” 

“You think?” Ryan chuckles nervously. “That was close. Too close.” 

“Yeah, sorry about that.” She winces apologetically without taking her eyes off Yaz, lifting one hand to touch her cheek. Her skin is only slightly warmer than the Doctor’s now, as it should be, and a brief glance at the monitor reveals strong, steady vitals. Her own aren’t looking too shabby either. “What about you? All better?” 

“Yeah, I feel fine.” Yaz assures, but she still doesn’t look entirely relaxed. “I don’t remember much but Graham said you basically dragged me out of there… sorry about that.” 

“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for.” The Doctor breathes reassuringly, and leans forward to wrap her arms around Yaz and hold her tight enough to feel her heart beating against her own. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

Yaz sighs, tension seeping out of her muscles and body relaxing against the Doctor’s as she returns the hug. It’s a rare occurrence, and she savors it as the special occasion it is every time. 

“Both of you out of the woods, then?” Graham clarifies, unease clinging to him like a leech. Understandable, given the day they’ve had. 

“Out of the woods.” The Doctor peels the monitor patch off of Yaz’s neck before pulling back, then removing her own. “Thanks to you two.” 

“All in a day’s work.” Ryan says smugly, and makes a show of dusting nothing off his hands. 

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are always appreciated! I’m also taking prompts for lack of anything better to do with my time rn


End file.
